


I been losing friends, I don't feel right.

by Craft_Logically



Category: Carmilla - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Battle, Bisexuality, Biting, Danny's weapon is a chakram cause I couldn't resist, Demigods, F/F, Homosexuality, Queer Character, Suicidal Thoughts, Swordfighting, Vampire Carmilla, Vampire Demigod, Vampires, Weapons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 14:51:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14834364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Craft_Logically/pseuds/Craft_Logically
Summary: Laura's trying really hard to survive; an arduous task it turns out.She hasn't showered in weeks and is getting really tired of fumbling in the dark.Its never been hard for Carmilla to survive. A fact she finds insulting as she'd really rather be dead. Children of Hermes just seem to be good at staying alive. Undead is a sort of dead though, so one point to Carmilla.





	I been losing friends, I don't feel right.

**Author's Note:**

> New Lil Peep song got me feeling some type of way. So I fucked around with words.

A car alarm blasts through her sleep. Her back cracks and she's momentarily disoriented. The grip of her spear digs into her palm. Carmilla blinks, clearing away the fog from her vision. In the second that takes, her senses are already reaching out. The room is empty, light shines in through the window. Beyond in the hallway everything feels equally still. If she had a working heart it would be pounding. As it is she sits stock still, slightly hunched over on a singles bed. Underneath the black T-shirt she slept in, her ribcage does not stir. Both her hearing and instincts tell her the same thing; her apartment is empty. A couple of minutes later she decides it's okay to believe them. Air rushes to greet her newly bared legs as she throws the blankets back. The apartment remains silent as she pads across to the chair sitting next to the door. She picks up the jeans just as quietly. The scrape of rough fabric sliding across her skin sounds like screaming. She darts back to the bed, fingers slotting perfectly into the grip of her spear.

She lets lose a little sigh in relief, dead air crackling out her mouth. The anxiety just a niggle in the back of her head, immediately retreating with her weapon securely back in her hand. Relatively at ease, Carmilla turns, marching out of her bedroom and down the hallway. Her feet still don't make a sound, gliding over hardwood floor. A habit difficult to shake. Subterfuge came easily to her. Despite her general apathy Carmilla's body seemed determined to keep her alive. After picking out her breakfast. The quiet of the apartment ringing in her ears. Carmilla plops down onto the couch. It creaks under her and she has to fight down the adrenaline that shoots through her body in response. She takes a bite of her apple. The sound of her chewing echoes around the apartment, rattling in her own head. Carmilla swallows, the apple scrapes her throat going down. The silence crowds in again, her fingers twitch. Energy hums beneath her skin, shrieking through her veins. It demands she move, try as she might she can't stop twitching and shifting her weight. She takes another bite of her apple chewing slowly, thoroughly. The apple feels like serrated cardboard going down. She takes another bite chewing just as leisurely. When she's done eating she'll move but not with the erratic lunacy her body begs to indulge. 

As a child she was always fidgety, inattentive. Her mother worked hard to train that out of her. Resentment fills her as she takes another bite of her apple. Loathsome as it is to adhere to her mother's wishes it would be worse not to be capable of controlling her own limbs. Carmilla sniffs at the empty air. She has her pride; only children zip about aimlessly. Her skin buzzes. Carmilla ignores it and leans back into the couch, staring at the pictures propped up the bookcase across from her. A child grins at her, hands clutching a stuffed animal he'd clearly been gifted for christmas. Next to his picture was one of a little girl walking down a bridge, back to the camera. Around ten pictures inhabited the top of the bookshelf. In her bedroom a similar number of pictures covered a oak dresser. They sure were domestic, Carmilla thought to herself. The people that lived here. Her teeth cut easily through the apple, annoyance flickers across her face at the feeling of her fangs slipping out unbidden to help. She runs her tongue across her teeth, wicking away the juice. She needs to feed soon. It seems the maximum amount of time she can have between feeding is a month. How lovely, it's like the undead version of a period.

 

She pushes off the couch, scowling and walks over to the garbage can in the kitchen. Her apple core thunks wetly on top of all her other discarded snacks. She sighs and runs her thumb over the grip of her spear, pushing into the leather with all her strength. It cracks, metal parting perfectly before it slithers up her arm. Her spear ripples and melts, caving in on itself. A minute later its hardened again, coiled around her arm in the shape of a snake that stretches from her wrist to the start of her elbow. Carmilla lets her hand drop back down to her side. The least her father could have done was make her weapons bracelet form less bulky. One inch from the door she stops and lifts her arm, sniffing at her armpit. Not bad she muses; peach suits her. The last place she squatted in was home to a woman with horrendous taste in shampoo. The man living here it seems had quite a bit more refinement. She appreciated that. The door clicks with a finality behind her. A women just exiting her own apartment blinks at her.

Carmilla curses internally. It’d been a week. A week of getting up at five in the morning and vacating the building before anyone could see her. Her body feeling like marble, weighty and uncompromising. She’d never been a morning person. The early light of day making her squint and growl. When it came down to it though, if she really needed to she could get up early. It turns out human hers difficulty with waking up early couldn’t hold a flame to the literal physical pain it inflicted on vampiric her, not to mention the strain it put on her mentally. So the fact that she’d slept in wasn’t really surprising but it was annoying. Carmilla had been fairly certain she could maintain her early rising. Now she has to convince the portly blonde woman staring at her suspiciously that she’s a friend or a cousin or a mistress. Whatever works really. She smiles sweetly at the women “Hi.”  
Her feet thump on the carpet as she starts to walk down the hall. “Nice day.”

The women frowns at her but Carmilla can see she’s fighting back the urge to flash a returning smile back at her. Carmilla tends to have that effect on people.

 

“Who, um are you?”

 

The woman takes a step towards Carmilla. Her voice is uncertain and confused. It turns out her already inhuman persuasiveness when combined with the allure of a vampire is quite the deadly weapon.  
Carmilla’s smile widens as she holds the woman’s eyes and a rapacious needy hunger yawns wide in her gut. “A traveler, a demon more lowly than yourself” she stalks forward her own blood bursting in her mouth as the rest of her teeth slide out. Mouth overflowing with incisors, she halts directly in front of the other woman and looks up coquettishly through her eyelashes. “Won’t you forgive me.”  
The other woman nods jerkily, her entire body shaking. Her head starts to turn away from Carmilla, an instinctual reaction. Carmilla can smell her fear, sour and intoxicating, tinged with the edge of arousal. She reaches out to trace the other woman's cheek. The blonde’s eyes close, shame colouring her eyes as she accepts her fate. Carmilla tilts her head to the side, in a bird like manner. The human part of her is bored. The vampire part is curious about what’s happening inside her meal.

She gently strokes the woman's face. “Shall we go inside?”

The woman’s eyes open, her pupils are blown. “Yes” she replies airily.

Carmilla smiles softly as she backs the woman into her apartment.

A hour later she’s sitting on the woman's bed, adjusting her shirt and searching for blood stains. She’s gotten better at feeding. Certainly a lot better than her first few times. She shudders thinking about it. The splatter of blood on the walls, the flesh in her teeth and her vomit decorating the floor. In the beginning she’d killed people. It hadn’t been her intention but it had happened regardless. As little love as she harbors for people, cold blooded murder was never on her bucket list. She looks over her shoulder at her now slumbering meal. The bite marks on her neck jagged and angry. Carmilla’s sloppy but her feedings are at least no longer lethal. The following days after her transformation the world was horribly bright and loud, more so than it was when she was alive. She was also keenly aware of the primal predator inside her. Now four months into being a vampire she is perhaps finally getting the hang of it.

After cleaning the blood off her meal and doing away with the paper towel she used, Carmilla sets off once again. Not worried about what the women might say. From the woman’s perspective she invited a gorgeous stranger into her house slept with her and then fell asleep. She’ll wake alone, wonder what came over her and never speak of what occurred. It’s a relief not to have to worry about having revealed herself to people. She’s not sure if its connected to the mist but for whatever reason people seem to hallucinate having sex with her in place of her drinking their blood. Boy, was that a kick to realize after her first successful feeding with some twenty year old graphic designer. She’d spent an hour trying to figure out how to ensure his silence without killing him. Then he’d walked out of the bedroom all smug smiles and infatuated eyes. It hadn’t taken her long to pick up on what he thought had happened. Disgust had crawled up her skin and despite her numerous attempts to extract herself from the situation, two hours had passed before she managed to escape. The woman's apartment is a mirror image of her own, architecturally. Her lip curls up ever so slightly, finding whimsy in the repetitiveness of the human mind. On her way out the door, something catches her eye. On the wall a wedding picture hangs. The woman stands, wearing a ivory white dress and veil, her hands wrapped around a tall tanned bald man in a primly pressed suit. Well that’s unfortunate. Carmilla opens the door and hopes she hasn’t just broken up a marriage.


End file.
